


It's Getting Dark (Too Dark To See)

by flameinthedark (alphayamergo)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Vampire Academy Fusion, F/M, Soul Bond, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphayamergo/pseuds/flameinthedark
Summary: “Look,” said Clarke. “We’re going to be in this together for – a long time, at least - and you're going to know everything about me, soon enough. I should at least be able to get to know you.” She pulled out a chair at the small, wooden table and sat down. “So, Bellamy Blake, what was your favourite book when you were a kid?”Or: The one where Clarke is a disgraced vampire princess, Bellamy is a dhampir trying to find a way to protect his sister, and they've just gotten stuck with a soul-bond.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	It's Getting Dark (Too Dark To See)

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic years ago, back when I still watched The 100 - then I quit during season three and what I've heard about the final season has thoroughly killed any interest in catching up. This is unfinished and will not be finished. But I wrote enough of this fic that it felt like a shame to have it sitting on my hard-drive for no one else to ever read. So I'm putting this up on a new pseud and might orphan it eventually, and if anyone wants to adopt the concept, go for it! Just let me know so I can read it too 👀
> 
> A quick rundown for anyone who hasn't read VA: there are two vampire races, the Moroi and the Strigoi. The Strigoi are your standard horror movie vampires: allergic to sunlight, always chaotic evil, immortal, the whole works. Moroi are living and don't need to kill when drinking blood. They also have magic abilities, with everyone specialising in one of the four classical elements. The Moroi have twelve royal families, with the monarch being elected (by the other royals) from one of these families. They're targeted by Strigoi because their blood strengthens the Strigoi. Clarke and Octavia are both Moroi. You've also got dhampirs, who were originally half-human, half-Moroi, but are generally born from dhampir/Moroi couplings. They're strong and hardy, so they typically serve as bodyguards for the Moroi against the Strigoi. Bellamy is a dhampir, as are most of the delinquents. Lastly, you've got the Alchemists, who are human but know about the vampire world, and dedicate themselves to keeping other humans from discovering vampires. The Alchemists don't actually show up in this, but they're referenced a few times.
> 
> (Does anyone else remember when the "In a fight, they're lethal. Around each other, they melt" quote was on, like, all the gifsets? That's 100% what inspired this. Ah, Romitri, your reach is vast.)

It began with a bus ride: a bus ride that Bellamy had taken dozens of times before. Every time the holidays rolled round – summer, winter, Easter, whatever – the students of Saint Rebecca’s were loaded up into the bus and driven out to the Missoula airport, where half of them were loaded on to a flight to Court and the other half on to flights back to their homes. It was the same story every time: the bus left at dawn. The students were all booked on flights in the morning, so they would be comfortably in the air before it got dark. They were accompanied by guardians to and from the airport. Everything was accounted for – except, of course, a bus driver that _really_ should have been asleep.

The wheels jerked on the black ice, and Bellamy had all of half a second to look for Octavia, to make sure his sister was belted in and as safe as she could be when in a moving vehicle careening for the trees. He opened his mouth to yell her name –

-

Bellamy blinked his eyes open to the tune of a heart monitor and someone muttering to themselves. He turned his head, training for unknown situations kicking in: observe the room, check for Moroi, assess exit strategies.

He was in a sterile white hospital dorm, an IV drip in his arm. Next to his bed was a girl, her blond hair obscuring her face as she focused on the drawing pad she had resting on her knees. “Not gonna work,” she muttered, tearing the paper from the pad, balling it up and throwing it at a waste bin in the corner of the room. Though she was dressed in jeans and a sweater instead of the hospital gown Bellamy was in, the tag around her wrist still gave her away as a fellow patient.

More than that, it gave away her identity. “Princess?”

Clarke Griffin jerked to attention. She stared at him for several long moments before she said, “Shit, I was meant to tell someone when you woke up – that’s the only reason they let me in here -” She scrambled out of her chair, pushing loose hair from her face. Her hair was technically in a braid, but the braid had become so unravelled that it barely counted as one. With a grimace, she tugged the hair tie from the end as she hurried for the door. “Bellamy’s awake!” she shouted at the door.

“Why are you in here?” asked Bellamy.

Clarke shrugged, her fingers fidgeting with the loose edge of her drawing pad. “I was bored?” It sounded utterly unconvincing, to the point that even she winced.

Bellamy propped himself up on his elbows, looking around. “Why am I in the hospital?” He couldn’t feel anything wrong: he’d had more than enough injuries in practice to identify when something was wrong, but he felt fine.

“Oh,” said Clarke. “You were – we were all – the bus crashed. We were both brought back here for observation.”

It came back to him in a surge, a tsunami crashing down on him as he bolted upright. “Where’s O?”

“Octavia?” asked Clarke. “She’s in the dorms, I think.” The door opened and Doctor Jackson pushed past Clarke, casting her a quick, suspicious glance over his shoulder as he went. Clarke pursed her lips and added, “I’ll go get her.”

“Can you tell me your name?” asked Jackson, taking out a torch and shining it in his eyes. When Bellamy blinked away the lights, Clarke had already slipped away.

Octavia arrived only minutes after Bellamy had successfully fended off Jackson. She burst into his room and threw herself on to his bed, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He winced away on impact, hissing, “Jesus Christ, O.”

“Shit!” said Octavia, picking herself up and looking over him warily. “I didn’t break anything, did I? Break anything worse?”

“I’m fine,” said Bellamy. “But getting the full weight of my sister thrown on to me is still a bit _much._ ”

“Are you?” asked Octavia. “Fine, I mean. I _saw_ you, Bell.” She blinked rapidly, looking away. “You looked dead.”

“Well, I’m definitely not that,” said Bellamy. “Seriously, O. I promise: I’m fine. Jackson wants to keep me here another day to make sure, but even he can’t find anything wrong with me.”

Octavia shook her head, brushing her hand past her eyes roughly. “Freaking dhampirs,” she said. “You’re all freaks of nature, I swear.”

Bellamy snorted and patted the bed next to him. Octavia curled in next to him, resting her head very gently on his shoulder. They had both known they were half-siblings for as long as they had known what it meant to be _dhampir_ and _Moroi_ , but so far, it hadn’t mattered too much: they grew up in the same home, fighting over the remote and the corner slice of birthday cakes, and if they didn’t take all the same classes when they were away at school – well, they were in different years, anyway. Octavia was his younger sister, and she would have been his responsibility to look out for even if she hadn’t been Moroi.

“Clarke Griffin was here when I woke up,” he told her, trying to brush her long hair out of his mouth. Seriously, _how_ did it get _everywhere?_

“I figured,” said Octavia. “She basically forced her way in here, you know. Fought like a wildcat when the guardians tried to remove her. Super weird. They eventually let her back in. I guess they figured they’d be able to tell if she did anything from the monitors.”

“She was a patient, too,” said Bellamy.

“Yeah, only a couple of you were actually injured,” said Octavia. “She passed out and woke up a couple of hours later, but I guess they kept her here a little longer under observation, like you. The rest of us were brought back here and they sent everyone off again today. They only left a couple of hours ago.”

“What about us?”

Octavia pursed her lips before finally saying, “We’re here for winter break, Bell. You were still out when they left for the new flights, and Mum can’t afford to come.”

“Dammit,” said Bellamy, dropping his head back against the pillow.

“Oh, come on, Bellamy,” said Octavia. “It’s not that bad. Not like there’s anything to do at Court anyway, with all those royals flouncing around. At least here we’ve got snow for the holidays, and most of the staff are home, too.”

“You just want to spend more time with Atom,” accused Bellamy.

She grinned. “Maybe a little bit.” She smoothed down the top of his curls and added, “Go to sleep, Bell. Pretty sure you need it.”

-

Winter at school was always a quiet affair. Almost the entire student body and most of the staff went home for the holidays: all that was left were a handful of novices whose parents couldn’t get time off from their guardian duties for Christmas, the usual guardians, a handful of Moroi staff to maintain the wards, and Clarke.

Clarke Griffin wasn’t a standard for winter break, of course. As far as Bellamy knew, she had spent most holidays with her family and then, after – she usually went to Court with Wells Jaha. But Wells had been put on the flight back out to Court, and Clarke was still on campus. With classes over for the semester, he saw little of her: she made appearances during breakfast and dinner, but for the rest of the day, she vanished.

Bellamy took little notice. They had never run in the same crowds. Dhampirs didn’t really talk to the best friend of the son of the king. They talked even less to princesses, no matter how tarnished that particular title was these days.

Instead, he spent his days with Octavia and Miller, letting Octavia bully him into watching Christmas movie after Christmas movie and starting snowball fights with the rest of the novices. He had an entirely clean bill of health, which meant he was only breaking school rules when he climbed a tree with a makeshift bib full of snowballs and spent the afternoon pelting anyone who walked past, not the doctor’s orders.

As the light started to appear on the edges of the horizon, Bellamy was beginning to run out of snowballs. Across the square, the doors to the church opened, and a blond figure slipped out. Bellamy stopped to watch as Clarke Griffin hurried across to her dormitory. She hadn’t approached him since he had been released from the hospital, and he still didn’t know what had driven her to fight to stay by his side while he was unconscious.

His eyes turned back to the church. _So that’s where Clarke Griffin hides from the world_. He glanced quickly to where Clarke had disappeared into her dormitory. _Probably just wants to prove that she still can._

-

Her eyes were red red _red_ , bloody and terrifying. Abby gave him some semblance of a smile as she reached her hand out towards him. He risked a glance at Jake, still sprawled out on the floor, dead to the world, before rocketing back up to Abby. Abby took another step forward, and even her gate was wrong, too smooth and too quiet.

“Clarke,” said Abby, her voice gentle –

Wait, _Clarke?_

“Mum,” Bellamy said, even though it wasn’t his mother and he’d had no intention of saying anything at all. His voice shook, but it didn’t sound like his voice – it was high-pitched and childish, trembling with fear. “What did you _do_?”

“I took the pain away,” said Abby. “I can do it for you, too, baby. For your dad, too.”

Bellamy shook his head. He really didn’t seem to have any control over the dream. “You’ve become a monster.”

“Oh, Clarke,” said Abby. “I’m not, truly. I just took the pain away.” Abby took another step. Bellamy tried to duck under her arm and run, but Abby moved impossibly quickly, grabbing him by the arm. “You’ll understand,” promised Abby, and then her teeth latched into his neck.

Bellamy woke to his dorm room, skin sticky with sweat and panting. He put a hand to his throat, rubbing against smooth skin where he had dreamed he had been bitten. Lurching to his feet, he grabbed at his court and pulled it on as he stumbled for the door.

He stumbled into the cool air, blinking at the sunlight. The sun was high in the sky, and the quad was deserted. Bellamy took a deep breath and stepped out into the sunlight, the light soaking into his skin.

He was safe from Strigoi in daylight. He was safe in the Academy, anyway, but the sunlight was the only place that safety was absolutely guaranteed.

Across the quad, the door to the Moroi’s dormitory was pushed open, and Clarke Griffin stumbled out, collapsing into the snow. She made no move to get back up, just leant forwards, her head buried in her hands.

_She’s a princess_ , thought Bellamy. _She’ll have someone._ Except, of course, she didn’t. The only person Clarke had left was Wells Jaha, and he was across the country at Court. An image of Octavia crying, alone in the snow, flashed across his mind and he had to suppress a groan. Against his better judgement, Bellamy pursed his lips and made his way across the quad. As his shadow fell over her, Clarke scrambled into a sitting position, wiping tears away with the palm of her hand.

“Are you okay?” asked Bellamy.

“No,” said Clarke.

Bellamy shifted on one foot. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“…No.”

“Alright then,” said Bellamy, settling down into the snow beside her. “You alright after the accident?”

Clarke nodded. “I just passed out for a couple of hours, that’s all.”

“Octavia said that you fought to stay with me while I was out,” said Bellamy. “Why?”

Clarke was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just couldn’t leave you. That’s all I knew, when I woke up. That I needed to find you and stay with you.” She gave a half-hearted smile and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Weird, I know.”

Bellamy snorted. “Little bit.” Urged on by the memory of his dream, he said, “I’m sorry about your parents.”

Clarke swallowed hard, and an unexpected bolt of grief shot through Bellamy. “It’s been five years, and I still don’t understand it,” said Clarke, quietly. “That my dad’s… That she just…”

“I know,” said Bellamy. What had happened to Clarke’s parents was the nightmare of the Moroi world.

They sat in silence, watching as the sun made its way through the sky. At last, Clarke got to her feet. “I’ve got to go inside,” she said ruefully. She hesitated, then added, “Thanks for talking, Bellamy.”

Bellamy waited until the sun started to dip behind the mountains before he headed for the library.

-

Bonds weren’t exactly unheard of. In fact, they were in just about every fairy tale in the Moroi world. That didn’t make it any easier to find any actual information on them.

Bellamy had been through the library twice before he admitted defeat. He slumped into one of the chairs and buried his head in his hands. He had no way of proving it, no way of learning more, but he was certain.

He had shared Clarke Griffin’s dream last night.

She had woken from her nightmare and sought the sun, just like he had, because her nightmare had been about Strigoi. She had stayed with him because of the connection that was beginning to form between them. That bolt of grief he had felt talking to Clarke hadn’t been his own. He had no reason to grieve Jake and Abby Griffin, but Clarke did.

Nobody ever said _how_ bonds were formed. All anybody ever said was that they were a miracle. There wasn’t a single book in the library that gave him more information, not even the fairy stories of his childhood. Why fate had decided to bind him to Clarke, of all people, was beyond him.

_Why not Octavia?_ he thought bitterly. If he’d been bound to Octavia, then no one could have argued with him guarding her. Bonds were non-negotiable, a special gift according to every story. Instead he was bound to a fucking princess, and just about the worst possible one to be bound to at that.

“Now, what?” muttered Bellamy. Did he tell her? Did he ignore it? He could do it. Clarke didn’t know. The stories always said it was one-way. No one ever had to know. Bellamy grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. _How would you like to have someone spying on your dreams, Blake?_

He had seen her worst memory turned nightmare. If anyone saw the nightmares he had about Octavia –

_Fuck_. He had to tell her.

He stood up and followed the inexorable pull now anchored to his soul to Clarke – out of the library, into the church and up the stairs into the attic. She was in the corner, seated under the window. She looked up at his entrance.

“We keep running into each other,” she deadpanned.

“We need to talk, princess,” said Bellamy. “Ever heard of bonds?”

Clarke narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes.”

Face to face with her, he felt the bond more clearly than ever. Anxiety flooded through it, even as she stared at him suspiciously. “I think… I think that we might have one.”

Clarke went still, and her anxiety spiked. “No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” said Bellamy. “I hate to break it to you, princess, but it’s not really something you can say yes or no to.”

“ _No_ ,” snarled Clarke. “We are not bonded. I can’t have a bond. It’s impossible.”

“We don’t know shit about how bonds are formed,” said Bellamy, spreading his eyes wide. “It could be a coincidence. An accident. We’re bonded.”

“If we have a bond, then you can – you can feel my feelings, see into my head,” said Clarke. “You haven’t seen any of that, have you?”

Bellamy grimaced. “I saw your dream last night.”

Clarke slumped, staring at her hands. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no, no, no…”

He knelt in front of her. “Thanks, princess,” said Bellamy dryly. “Just the reaction I wanted to hear.”

Clarke ignored him. She closed her eyes but tears still leaked out. “I’m going to become her,” she whispered.

-

The course of Clarke Griffin’s life changed on one summer morning. Things had been getting worse for a while, but at twelve years old, all she had been interested in was sneaking out to see Wells. She couldn’t have seen it coming.

No one had seen it coming.

No one had foreseen Abby Griffin sinking her teeth into her guardian’s throat. How could they? Nobody knew about the demons that tormented her each night. Nobody knew about the magic that drove her mad the more that she used it.

Clarke should have specialised three years ago, like most Moroi her age. She had spent the past three years denying that she _had_ specialised. Spirit was all but forgotten, and without her parents, there had been no one around to call her on her denial.

Then there had been the bus crash, and a boy bleeding out. She hadn’t realised he was dead already when she reached out and healed him. Now he was kneeling in front of her, and he deserved answers. She took several deep breaths before she opened her eyes.

“Sit down, Bellamy,” she said. “This might take a while.”

Bellamy eyed her warily, but he shifted into a seated position. “Become who, Clarke?”

“My mother,” whispered Clarke. Bellamy shifted back, just a little further out of reach, and she shook her head. “You know, my dream isn’t just a nightmare. Most of it is a memory. Up until she bit me, it’s all real – it’s just in real life, I really did manage to get out of reach until the guardians arrived. She was halfway through turning my dad when…” She blinked, wiping away her tears. “Before – before she did it, before she turned herself, everyone thought my mother hadn’t specialised. You probably know – it was a real scandal, Princess Griffin not specialising.” Bellamy nodded in recognition. “Everyone was wrong. She had specialised. She specialised in spirit.”

“In what?” said Bellamy blankly.

“It’s really rare,” said Clarke. “Almost entirely forgotten. Basically everything my mother could do with it, she came up with herself. And she could do _miracles_ – she walked in dreams, she could create intricate illusions that fooled everyone, she healed people.” At the last one, her eyes flickered up to meet Bellamy’s.

“Is that what you did to me?” asked Bellamy, understanding washing over him.

Clarke nodded. “But the thing about spirit is that for all the other elements, you’re pulling magic from the world around us, but spirit? Spirit comes from within, and every time you use it, you give a little bit of yourself up. My mum, by the end – she was hallucinating, paranoid, and I guess she saw giving up the magic as her only way out.” _I took the pain away_ , Abby whispered. _You’ll understand._

_I won’t,_ thought Clarke desperately. _I’ll never understand._

“By killing people,” said Bellamy flatly.

Clarke hesitated before nodding. “We can look for a way to break it,” said Clarke. “The bond. Before I become – like that. So you don’t have to feel it, feel _me_ , when I finally -” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

Bellamy sighed and he shifted again, but this time he moved to sit next to her, leaning against the wall beside her. He put one arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. “You won’t.”

She wrenched herself away. “Of course I will, Bellamy,” snapped Clarke. “My mother was a good person _before_. If she could do that, then someone like me definitely will.”

“Christ, Clarke,” muttered Bellamy, running his hand through his hair. “If you’re going to think like that, _of course_ you’ll snap, because you’ve given yourself no other choice.”

“You don’t know me, Bellamy Blake,” said Clarke.

Bellamy gave her a wry smile. “No, I don’t. But I think I’m going to learn.”

-

Raven struck out with her fist, and Bellamy wasn’t quite able to dodge out of the way in time, earning himself a glancing blow to the shoulder. Raven was smaller than a lot of the Strigoi she would one day face, but she was the fastest in their year and could pack a punch when she wanted to.

“You been napping all Christmas, Blake?” she taunted, dancing out of reach.

“Lucky shot, Reyes,” shot back Bellamy, forcing his way back into her space.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Griffin?” asked Raven, deflecting a hit and feinting towards him. “Don’t tell me Bellamy Blake is dating the princess.”

“Not dating,” said Bellamy through gritted teeth. Raven’s leg swept under him, knocking him off balance, and she took advantage, pressing forward and landing him on his ass. Before she could bring down the practice stake, he twisted out of the way.

“You’ve sure been spending a lot of time with her,” said Raven.

“Less talking!” shouted Indra. He and Raven made a quick face at each other before continuing their bout. “You think you’ll be chatting with a Strigoi?”

“I mean, we might,” said Jasper. “Statistically speaking, there’s got to be a chatty Strigoi out there somewhere.” Harper took advantage of his distraction to knock him to the ground, and she crowed with delight as she staked him.

“A chatty Strigoi is a dead Strigoi,” said Indra, giving Jasper a flat stare. “For obvious reasons. Time!”

Bellamy came to a halt, holding his out to Raven. “Nice work.”

“Damn straight,” said Raven, high-fiving his outstretched hand. “Seriously, though. You and Griffin.”

“Don’t tell me you think she’s going to drain me,” said Bellamy, rolling his eyes.

“God, no,” said Raven, rolling her eyes. “I’ve done group work with her occasionally. She’s fine. Just didn’t expect Bellamy ‘the royals are all useless assholes’ Blake to be hanging out with her.”

“She’s not like other royals, and you know it,” said Bellamy.

Raven looked at him sideways. “Still spends most Christmases with Thelonious Jaha.”

“Look, she was one of the only people still on campus over break, and we got talking – and she’s alright, okay?” said Bellamy. “I stand by my statements when it comes to, like, every other royal in existence.” He considered. “Maybe not Wells Jaha, but only because Clarke might hit me.”

Raven snorted out a laugh. “Sure, not dating, whatever you say.”

“We’re not - ” protested Bellamy, but Raven just cackled as she headed for the showers.

At lunch, he was – as usual; the cafeteria _never_ had enough room for the full student body – wedged in between Miller and Emori, trying to keep Octavia from stealing all of his fries across the table. He looked up automatically as the door opened, knowing already who was coming through. He raised his hand to Clarke, waving her over. She hesitated, and he could feel the trepidation sweeping through her as she took in his full table, but she squared her shoulders and nudged Wells, nodding at Bellamy.

Diagonally across from him, Raven smirked and waggled her eyebrows at him. He pointedly ignored her.

“Oh, man,” muttered Murphy. “Don’t tell me Jaha’s son and the bloodsucker are on their way over.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Half the people here are bloodsuckers, Murphy. Suck it up.”

“You know there’s a difference -” started Murphy.

“Yeah, and it’s that unlike most of you, I’ve actually survived a Strigoi attack,” said Clarke, having arrived at the table just in time to hear Murphy’s words. “And, you know, was the one to alert the guardians, since no one ever seems to remember that part in their lurid stories about me drinking my own father’s blood or whatever the fresh bullshit is.”

The table went dead silent. Wells stared at Clarke in alarm. Raven let out a low whistle. “Damn, Griffin,” she said. “Are royals legally allowed to swear?”

“Queen Alexandra’s statue at Court is actually a giant swear jar,” deadpanned Clarke.

“Don’t be a dick, Murphy,” said Bellamy. He raised his eyebrows at Clarke and she shrugged, giving him a minute smile.

“Pretty sure he can’t be nice without breaking something,” said Jasper.

Murphy held out a threatening finger. “Just because I almost broke your nose last week -”

“We’ll all broken Jasper’s nose; you’re not special,” scoffed Raven.

Clarke and Wells stared around the table, their eyes going from person to person like they were watching a ping-pong match, a kind of amused amazement on their faces. Bellamy wondered how much time they had spent with dhampirs before.

“ _I_ haven’t,” grumbled Octavia. She rested her head on the palm of her hand, blowing a strand of hair out of face.

“And that,” said Jasper, “is why you’re my favourite.” He shot Clarke and Wells a smile and added, “You two can be tied for second.”

Clarke smiled at Jasper, but only Bellamy could feel the relief that rocketed through her at the simple words of acceptance. “I’ll take it,” she said.

-

_Bellamy?_

The sound of Clarke’s voice in his head almost made him jump out of his skin. He looked over his shoulder at Clarke, seated at the back of their classroom. She grinned at him. _You can hear me!_

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Mr Blake,” said Pike. “I know that Miss Griffin is fascinating, but if you could bear to pay attention till the end of class, that would be wonderful.”

“Sorry, Mr Pike,” muttered Bellamy, looking at his desk. Through the bond, smugness continued to radiate from Clarke.

At the end of the (painfully long) class period, Bellamy pulled Clarke aside before she had a chance to head for her next class. “What was that?”

“I thought that if I can figure out how to broadcast to you, then maybe I’ll be able to figure out how to block you out, too,” said Clarke. “Get some privacy again and let you be alone in your own head. And I did! I have some control over the bond.” She beamed at him, bright and pleased.

Bellamy sighed. “Can you at least not do it in class?”

“But trig is just so boring,” complained Clarke. At the look on his face, she added, “ _Fine._ I swear, I’ll only do it when it’s urgent.”

“How are you planning on blocking the bond?” asked Bellamy.

“I don’t know,” said Clarke. “Maybe it’ll be like – you know in movies and books, where to keep someone from reading your mind you need to keep your mind as blank as possible? _Clear your mind_ ,” she intoned, clearly echoing someone. She cocked her head and looked at him. “Come on – Harry Potter?”

Bellamy shrugged. “More Octavia’s thing than mine.”

Clarke frowned, a tiny crease appearing on her forehead. “You get to know so much about me, but I know almost nothing about you. It seems unfair.”

Bellamy shrugged, rubbing the back of his head. “There’s not a lot to know.” Clarke cast a quick glance around them. The halls were emptying around them as everyone disappeared into their next class. She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him down the hallways. “Whoa, princess,” said Bellamy, “such a bad influence.”

“Shut it,” ordered Clarke.

“As you command,” said Bellamy. Clarke huffed at him but otherwise didn’t bother to respond. She led him out into the woods that surrounded the campus. The woods reached for miles around the school, keeping them sufficiently far from prying human eyes. She took him out to a cabin, not stumbling or hesitating for a moment.

“Back before the wards were set up, the guardians used to use these cabins as outposts,” said Clarke. “They’re basically abandoned now, but Wells and I come out here sometimes.” She shrugged. “It’s quiet, and we don’t have to be, you know, Princess Griffin and King Thelonious’ son. Just us.” She dragged her fingers over the windowsill, wistful.

Bellamy cleared his throat. “So, is there a reason you kidnapped me?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “I didn’t _kidnap_ you.”

“I was being a perfectly well-behaved student before -” started Bellamy, but Clarke rolled her eyes again and shoved him. It barely moved him, and he gave her a wide, insolent smile.

“Look,” said Clarke. “We’re going to be in this together for – a long time, at least - and you're going to know everything about me, soon enough. I should at least be able to get to know you.” She pulled out a chair at the small, wooden table and sat down. “So, Bellamy Blake, what was your favourite book when you were a kid?”

Bellamy barked out a laugh and sat down across from her. “ _That’s_ your first question?”

“Well, it obviously wasn’t Harry Potter,” said Clarke. “Seems like a reasonable place to start.”

“We had a couple of old mythology and folklore books,” said Bellamy. “Greek, Romanian, Norse – you name it. I read them all the time.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Romanian?”

“You know they thought Strigoi had tails?” said Bellamy. “I blame the Alchemists.”

Clarke snorted. “Have you _met_ an Alchemist? They’re basically devoid of all humour. No way they’re capable of making a joke like that.”

“Once,” said Bellamy. Clarke blinked at him in confusion. “I’ve met an Alchemist once. I was nine, and O was eight. We lived by ourselves in a human neighbourhood, with no wards.”

“A Strigoi attacked,” whispered Clarke.

Bellamy nodded. “We weren’t royal, so we didn’t have any guardians. We hid in the attic as Octavia’s father went down to distract him. The Strigoi killed him in seconds, but at least he paused to drink.” Bellamy swallowed. “Then he came for us. He went for Octavia first. The guardians barely got there in time.”

Clarke reached out across the table and rested her hand over his. “Fuck, Bellamy – I’m so sorry.”

“Mum’s been taking jobs in warded areas ever since,” said Bellamy. “At Court, at academies, working for a big royal family with a warded property – whoever will hire her. So Octavia and I always go from one warded area to another.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you at Court,” murmured Clarke.

“You wouldn’t have,” said Bellamy.

“No,” said Clarke. “I suppose I wouldn’t have.” She grimaced, then burst out, “I fucking hate Court. I’m going to have to live there my entire life because I’ll be on the Council as soon as I turn eighteen, but it’s just a wretched hive.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn, Griffin, tell me what you really think.”

She shot him a wry look and continued, “Barely anybody there actually speaks to me. All the royals – they _grew up with me_ and they still think I’m going to become a Strigoi because they can’t get their heads out of their own asses. Everything that’s wrong with our society runs rampant at Court.”

“Here’s the question, though, Princess,” said Bellamy. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

She straightened, lifting her chin. Suddenly, even dressed in an oversized hoodie and her hair in a messy bun, Bellamy could imagine her sitting at the Council, holding her own against peers three times her age. She smirked. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

-

It happened on a Saturday. In hindsight, everybody agreed that it must have been chosen _because_ it was a Saturday. On a school day, the students would be in classes. On a Sunday, many of them would have been in the chapel. On a Saturday, the population of Saint Rebecca’s was at its most scattered – and that made it easier for them to be picked off.

Just after midnight, the door to the dhampir dorms were closed only moments before Bellamy went to leave through them. He sped up, trying to reach the doors before they were locked. “What’s going on?”

“Get back to your dorm, Blake,” said Byrne. “That’s an order.”

“What’s going on?” he demanded again.

“There are Strigoi on campus, Mr Blake,” said a voice behind him. Bellamy turned to see Shumway approaching, a silver stake in each hand. He handed one to Byrne and kept the other for himself. “This dormitory is now under lockdown until dawn. Get back to your room.”

His heart in his throat, Bellamy managed to say, “Clarke’s out there.”

Byrne and Shumway shared a dark look before Byrne lifted a radio to her lips. “Princess Griffin may be MIA.” She looked to Bellamy and added, “There’s nothing you can do, Blake. Go to your dormitory. Novices shouldn’t see action.”

_Clarke,_ thought Bellamy. _Clarke, where are you?_ He couldn’t feel any fear through the bond – she didn’t know. He was meant to meet her in the church attic, but was she already there, or was she walking out in the open, an easy meal for any passing Strigoi?

“Of course, Guardian Byrne,” said Bellamy, and went to look for a window. He slipped out a window on the second floor, using a drain to clamber down to the ground. Leaving an open window was a security risk, but –

But there were easier pickings for Strigoi tonight. Clarke among them. He turned and ran for the church.

“Clarke!” shouted Bellamy as he approached the church. In the middle of the garden before the chapel, Clarke was walking toward the entrance. At the sound her name, she turned in surprise. “Clarke, get inside the church!” Strigoi couldn’t enter holy ground. If she could make those last few metres, and holed up inside until dawn, she would be safe. Just a few more metres.

A body slammed into him from the side. Bellamy gasped, turning to face the Strigoi. Red eyes gleamed in the moonlight, the woman’s skin chalky and white. Even though she had almost nothing in common with the Strigoi who attacked his family, or Abby in Clarke’s nightmares, those Strigoi features made them nearly indistinguishable. Bellamy got his hands up and settled into a fighting stance only a moment before the Strigoi charged him again.

He had no stake. He had no way to set her on fire, or decapitate her. All he had was the ability to give Clarke a chance to get into the church safely. He gritted his teeth and hit out at the Strigoi.

It was a messy blur of fists and blood and teeth. Even after so many years being lectured about the Strigoi’s unnatural strength and speed, the first hit from the woman nearly knocked the wind out of him. She pushed past his defences and him to the ground. She smirked at him before she went in for the kill –

Then froze, and flew off him and into a tree. Bellamy scrambled to his feet. Clarke was standing only metres away, her hand flung out. “Holy shit,” she breathed.

“You should have been in the church,” hissed Bellamy.

“If I’d gone in the church, you’d be dead,” snapped Clarke. “I’m not going to apologise when I saved your damn life, Bellamy.” She tossed her hair back, jutting her chin out defiantly, blue eyes blazing even in the dark.

It was the worst possible time for it, but Bellamy lunged forwards and kissed her, hard and quick. Clarke gasped and opened her mouth under his, her hands wrapping into his hair. She wanted it as badly as he did, pressing herself up against him, but he had to pull himself away before it could go any further.

“Inside,” he said.

“Come with me,” said Clarke.

“I need to make sure Octavia’s in the dorms,” said Bellamy. “You just know that today of all days, she would be exploring the woods.”

Clarke glanced quickly over his shoulder then said, “Two seconds.” She pulled him by the hand into the church and ran for the first chair she found. She pushed it toward him and said, “Break a leg off. It’s not much a weapon, but it’s better than what you had.”

Bellamy took the chair and slammed one leg against the wall twice, until the leg snapped free, the wood jiggered and splintered. It wasn’t a silver stake, but she was right: it was something. Without another moment of hesitation, he turned the chair and broke a second leg off.

“You’re not going to stay here, are you?” he said, holding out a chair leg to her.

“I’m not going to let you die without me,” said Clarke, and took the leg.

“You’ve never had any training,” said Bellamy. “You probably won’t be strong enough to use this at all. Just keep doing what you did then – spirit, I’m guessing?”

Clarke nodded breathlessly. “My mum was able to move things with her mind. I figured it was worth a shot.”

“This is a last resort,” said Bellamy firmly. He shook his head and said, “Fuck, they’ll crucify me for this.”

“I won’t let them,” promised Clarke. She took a deep breath. “Are you ready?”

Bellamy gripped the makeshift stake tightly. “Let’s do this.”

Clarke opened the door, letting him burst through and meet the Strigoi head on. She was lurking right by the door, waiting for them. This time, he was prepared for her strength, and met her blow for blow. He feinted and then struck out with the chair leg, sinking it deep into her chest.

It wasn’t a stake. It wouldn’t kill her. But it would give Bellamy and Clarke to get clear of the area and head for the Moroi dorms. As the Strigoi collapsed, her dark hair splayed out against the grass, Clarke crept from the church and handed Bellamy her chair leg.

“You can do more with it then me,” said Clarke.

“Come on,” said Bellamy, taking her by the hand. Together, they started running toward the dormitories. They met no resistance. It should have been a good sign, but the anxiety just ratcheted up in Bellamy’s chest. There was a reason so few Strigoi were prowling the empty areas of the school.

As they rounded the corner to enter the square that held the dormitories, for Moroi and dhampirs both, Bellamy could see he was right. Chaos reigned, with guardians fighting Strigoi hand to hand across the square. They slowed to a halt as Bellamy tried to find a route to the doors of the Moroi dorm.

“An army,” whispered Clarke, barely audible over the fighting.

“There are stories about armies like this,” said Bellamy. “Old fairy tales, but -”

“They were meant to be just that,” finished Clarke. “Fairy tales.”

“Come on,” said Bellamy. “You stay right next to me the whole time, you hear me? And if a Strigoi touches you, _scream._ Through the bond and aloud.” Clarke nodded, and Bellamy added, “Put your hood up.”

Clarke pulled her hood up, covering her blond hair. There had to be hundreds of Moroi out there with gold hair, but he couldn’t risk a Strigoi recognising her: Princess Clarke, the last of the Griffin family. The Strigoi would drink from any Moroi they could get their hands on, but ending one of the royal bloodlines? The Strigoi were petty and cruel: they would happily kill her without drinking a single drop of blood just to spite the Moroi people. He couldn’t risk that. He couldn’t risk _Clarke._

Bellamy kept himself between Clarke and the Strigoi as they crept along the wall of the Moroi dormitory. She reached out and took his hand, her hands sweaty. He gave it a comforting squeeze, but couldn’t risk so much as looking at her, watching their surroundings carefully. It didn’t take long for a Strigoi to notice the scent of a Moroi amongst them. A Strigoi, dark hair plastered to his face, backhanded Pike across the face and broke away from the fight. Bellamy angled himself between Clarke and the Strigoi, raising the jagged table leg.

“Bellamy!” cried Clarke.

He had to keep himself between Clarke and the Strigoi. It made the fight harder, but it was a fight he had been trained for.

It was a fight that he didn’t need to have. Before the Strigoi reached him, a ring of flames wreathed around the Strigoi’s head, and the Strigoi jerked back, screaming. Before Bellamy was entirely sure what was happening, Indra shoved between him and the Strigoi, shoving a silver stake into the Strigoi’s chest.

“Get inside,” growled Indra.

Bellamy grabbed Clarke’s arm without protest and ran for the door. There, half out the door and reaching her arm out to him, was Octavia. Bellamy shoved Clarke the last few feet and she stumbled into Octavia’s arms, who pulled her inside before turning back for Bellamy. He staggered inside and Octavia slammed the door shut behind him.

“Bell,” gasped Octavia, running her hands over his face and down his arms, as if checking he was still all in one piece. “Damn it, big brother. You’re going to give me a heart attack before this year is out.”

“I’m okay, O,” said Bellamy. “We’re both okay.”

“What the hell were you doing out there?” demanded Octavia, shooting Clarke a dirty look over her shoulder.

“She saved my life, O,” said Bellamy wearily.

Octavia hesitated. She let go of Bellamy and said softly to Clarke, “Thanks.”

“Was that you?” asked Clarke. “The fire?”

Octavia nodded, jutting her chin out. “The guardians were getting _massacred_ out there. I could do something, so I did it, and it saved your life, so -”

“That was incredible,” breathed Clarke.

Octavia stopped, her defiance giving way to surprise. “A lot of people got caught outside,” she said. “Most of them are making their way back here, but a Moroi trying to get in here is basically suicide. I can distract the Strigoi enough to get them inside.”

Clarke frowned. “Is it only you?”

“Finn helps,” said Octavia. “But water isn’t as distracting as fire, you know? He’s upstairs with the others,” added Octavia.

**Author's Note:**

> A quick run-down of what was due to happen after I stopped writing:  
> \- There's a group of progressive royals learning how to defend themselves, physically and magically, from Strigoi. Lexa is the ringleader, who has learnt most of what she knows from her girlfriend/guardian, Costia. The next time they're at Court, Clarke introduces Octavia to them. Lincoln's one of the guardians who helps out, and we all know where this is going.  
> \- The gang finds out about the quorum (that a royal family needs to have at least two living members to take up a seat on the Royal Council), meaning that Clarke can't take her seat on the Council. Except...  
> \- Between the quorum ruling and knowing she has the ability to bring people back from the dead, Clarke becomes more and more obsessed with the idea she might be able to restore a Strigoi to their former selves. First target: Abby.


End file.
